


Ua Hiki Mai Kapalena Pau - The Final, Deleted Scene

by Longboard_Chris



Category: Hawaii Five-0 (2010)
Genre: Angst, Dreams, Episode: S1E23 Ua Hiki Mai Kapalena Pau, Established Relationship, Humor, Hurt/Comfort, Jealousy, M/M, Nightmares
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2011-05-15
Updated: 2011-05-15
Packaged: 2017-10-19 10:30:47
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings, No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,477
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/199863
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Longboard_Chris/pseuds/Longboard_Chris
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>The final, deleted scene from Episode 1x23 (where Danny is poisoned) that will NOT be included in the boxed set of Season 1.</p><p>  <i>"How long have we been together?"</i></p><p>  <i>"Six months?" Steve guessed.</i></p><p>  <i>Danny did some quick math in his head. "Six months, 11 days, 8 hours, 27 minutes and," he glanced at his watch, again, "42, 43, 44 seconds, to be exact. Since you came downstairs and stood in the doorway to your living room, ridiculously drunk and totally naked."</i></p><p> It also has a sequel <a href="http://archiveofourown.org/works/204894">Oia'i'o - The Final, Deleted Scene</a>, but can be read as a stand-alone.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Ua Hiki Mai Kapalena Pau - The Final, Deleted Scene

**Author's Note:**

> The end of this episode knocked my 5-0 universe off of its axis.  
> I had to write this to right that.  
> Don't own Steve and Danny. Wish I did.  
> Just a bit of fun.

They were all lying there. Danny and his family. In Steve's bedroom. Grace, tucked in a chair, by the foot of the bed. Danny's hospital bed. Why was Danny's hospital bed in Steve's room? Why was Rachel wrapped in Danny's arms, in Danny's hospital bed? In Steve's room. Where Steve should be.

Danny turned his head towards Steve. It kind of looked like Danny. He was blurry and gray, all the color washed out of him. Except for blue. Two blue. Two blue eyes, staring back at Steve. Mocking him. Matching the grin on Danny's face, the one Danny sported when he launched a particularly good one-liner that landed squarely on Steve. But the grin held no gentle teasing, no love. Just spite.

Now, Steve and Danny stood in Steve's living room. But the dimensions were off. The room was narrow where it should be long and the windows were in the wrong places. And the computer table from headquarters was where the coffee table should be. Steve thought he saw Chin and Kono and Jenna in his periphery; he knew it was them. But he couldn't make them out clearly.

Danny hugged Steve, but without emotion, feeling or warmth. There was no Danny to it. It was a bro-hug, a courtesy between two prize fighters after they beat the shit out of each other. The victor consoling the defeated. And Steve knew which one he was.

Danny pulled back and, again, Steve saw blue. Piercing blue. The only color in Steve's reality. Danny's mouth was moving, like it always was. Yet, Steve was having trouble making out the words. Then, it all crashed down around him: one solid wave, punching Steve in the face.

"You idiot," Danny spat, all affection drained from the usual endearment he saved for Steve. "Did you really think we had a future?" He shook his head and his mocking grin returned. "You were a placeholder, the rebound. You were good enough, until I could get Rachel back."

"And now," somehow Rachel and Grace had appeared from nowhere and were crowded around Danny, " _We_ are a family again." Danny hugged the women surrounding him and locked eyes with Steve. "And _we_ are going back to New Jersey..."

Steve bolted upright in bed, a drowning man gasping for air, and bumped Danny awake from a blissful slumber.

Danny had been through this drill too many times before. "It's a flashback," he repeated, silently, to himself, as he turned on the bedside lamp. His body was still aching from the poisoning, so, more carefully than usual, Danny avoided Steve's flailing elbows and fists, knees and feet. Whatever horrors Steve had seen in combat, the SEAL stories he couldn't confirm or deny to Danny, they were all in the past. Danny had to reassure Steve that he was safe.

"It's alright, babe. I've got you. Shhhhhh. Relax," Danny whispered. He saw an opportunity and tried to get his arms around Steve; Steve delivered a forearm to Danny's chin and Danny tasted blood.

He waited a few beats and tried again. "Steven" was all Danny said, with the delivery and intensity of a command, and the actions of _wake up_ and _calm down_ and _come back to me_ all implied at the utterance of his partner's name.

The bubble burst. The entire episode was mere seconds but seemed to stretch over agonizing minutes. And Steve recovered like he had snapped out of a trance.

"Danny." Just saying his name out loud was the last, necessary piece that forced Steve back into full consciousness.

"There you are. Hi," Danny said, his voice, much more gentle and almost cracking. He looked down at Steve with smiling eyes and rubbed a hand over Steve's chest. Danny was getting misty at the relief he felt, and it killed him to see Steve like this, knowing all he could do was watch, helplessly.

Steve couldn't make eye contact with Danny, since he knew Danny would want to talk about the dream. He felt guilty for letting his subconscious even consider that Danny would betray him. And Steve wore that guilt, blatantly, on his face.

"I'm gonna go check on Grace. See if she's still out." Danny smirked and poked at Steve's side, right where he knew Steve was ticklish, to break the tension they felt. Steve half-smiled in Danny's general direction and closed his eyes, feeling the mattress shift, as Danny got out of bed. Something rang in his head, like a chord being struck on a piano, that made the worst parts of the dream rush to the front of his mind. Against his better judgment, Steve opened his eyes to watch Danny go.

He turned his head and recognized the basketball shorts Danny was wearing. Steve's basketball shorts. The ones made for someone with a McGarrett frame, not a Williams stature. The ones that came down to Danny's shins and, according to Steve, made Danny look like MC Hammer. The first time Danny wore them, they were in the kitchen making breakfast; Steve yelled "can't touch this" and swatted Danny on the ass. McGarrett was allowed one of those and was warned as such. The second, and last, time Steve dared to try that ass-slap, Danny caught Steve's arm in mid-swing and sprawled him on the living room floor with a judo flip. The ever-so-pleased look on Danny's face, the radiant grin, the crinkled eyes, the gales of laughter, all directed down at Steve, were beyond priceless.

"Sleeping like a rock. Just like her mom and Uncle Steve," Danny said, quietly, as he came back into the bedroom and closed the door behind him. Steve almost jumped, his reverie broken at being dragged into the present.

Danny knelt on the bed and looked down at his partner. "Feeling better?"

Steve nodded.

"We gonna talk about it?"

 _I'd rather be back, fighting in 'The 'Stan'_ , Steve thought, but only shook his head at Danny. He already felt like a complete ass and would rather die than hurt Danny with the stupidity his sleeping brain cooked up.

"Remember, you can say anything to me." Danny changed positions as he spoke, laying against the headboard and wrapping Steve in his arms. "Except, if you refer to Afghanistan as 'The 'Stan'. If that happens, I won't be responsible for my actions." He gave Steve a quick squeeze and rested their heads together.

They laid in silence for several minutes, and Steve knew trying to out-wait Detective Danny Williams was futile. He could be angry and a hothead, but, when necessary, Danny displayed the greatest patience Steve had ever seen, probably from too many long stakeouts and surveillances back in New Jersey. Or from being a great dad.

Steve felt a familiar vibration against his back, coming from Danny, but couldn't quite place what it was or why he was feeling it. It was too regular and rhythmic to be Danny's breathing, even if Danny had drifted back to sleep. Then, he understood: Danny was humming a tune. 

Steve blushed.

"You know that I fucking hate _Sexy Eyes_ ," Danny whispered. "But if you don't start talking soon, I will stop humming and start singing. And I will croon _at_ you until you beg me to stop."

Steve contemplated giving Danny a jab in the ribs, but decided that would be too cruel after all Danny had been through in the past couple of days. Instead, he focused on the wall, mustered his courage and shared as many details with Danny as he could remember, leaving out the truly hurtful bits but still getting the feeling across. Steve finished and closed his eyes, expecting several outcomes and not wanting to be around for any of them when they arrived.

Silence.

Too long of a silence. 

_I bare my soul and Danny picks now to nod off_ , Steve thought.

He dared to open his eyes and glance up at his partner; Danny flicked his gaze away, refusing to look Steve in the eye. Because Danny was biting his lower lip to hold his amusement back. His cheeks were puffed out and his face, tomato red. Danny gave up when his head started hurting. The air escaped his lips like he was a deflating balloon, the sound a mixture of laughter and hissing.

"Thanks a lot," Steve said and tried to squirm out of Danny's grip. He hoped a hole to hell would rip open in the mattress and swallow him, dragging him away from Danny and his embarrassment.

Danny caught his breath and sighed. "Steve, when the good Lord was doling out brains, you were standing in the line marked 'cement'. You, my friend, have a hard head. _Testa dura,_ as the Italian part of the Williams clan so often referred to me when I was younger." He lightly knocked on Steve's noggin to prove his point. "I'm worried you're replaying your own, private combat hell in your head and this is what you're having nightmares about? Have we not been over this, multiple times, since I walked back into headquarters?"

"Yes," Steve replied, sheepishly.

"OK. Let's try this, so I can hope to get back to sleep before dawn," Danny grabbed his watch off the nightstand and checked the time, "which is in 20 minutes. How long have we been together?"

"Six months?" Steve guessed.

Danny did some quick math in his head. "Six months, 11 days, 8 hours, 27 minutes and," he glanced at his watch, again, "42, 43, 44 seconds, to be exact. Since you came downstairs and stood in the doorway to your living room, ridiculously drunk and totally naked. You crossed your arms and just stared at me; it was the most Neanderthal come-on ever recorded in the history of planet Earth. The only things missing were a club to conk me over the head with and a cave to drag me back to."

Steve groaned and covered his face at being reminded of their first night as a couple.

"I didn't know whether to bust a gut, run for the hills or fuck you right there. Which did I do?"

"The last one," Steve said, barely audible.

"That's correct. Letter C. As intoxicated as I was as well, I took you right then and there, in a sloppy, yet acrobatic, display of my sexual prowess. A memory that sometimes makes me blush when I cross that spot. And that...is why we no longer drink tequila."

"Now," Danny continued, "when you saw Rachel and me lying together, what did you do?"

"I left."

"You left?! You did not 'left'. You ran. And y'know, now that I think about it, I should really be pissed at you. Because you did it twice."

"Twice?" Steve asked. "How?"

"Once in reality, once in your dream. Neither time you fought for me."

"And how was I supposed to do that?"

"Jesus, McGarrett, do I have to script your dreams, too? You could've challenged Rachel to a duel at dawn. Had a joust in the hospital parking lot. Hell, you two could've lobbed grenades at each other. I'm sure there's an even larger stockpile in my Camaro, in your dreams." Danny smiled down at Steve. "And the winner would've gotten me."

Steve wasn't biting. "Danny, it looked like you were putting your family back together. I wasn't gonna stand in the way of a reconciliation."

Danny closed his eyes and prayed for strength. "I get it; you told me that. Despite what you saw, which, again, was Rachel exhausted after her trip, she and I haven't changed since the divorce. We're both just as stubborn and set in our ways as we ever were. If we tried to be a couple again, it'd be just as toxic as the last time, if not worse. And who'd be damaged the most from it?"

"Grace."

Danny kissed Steve's forehead. "Rach and I have found a way to get along, for Grace's sake, where it's not just politeness through gritted teeth. It's actually, dare I say it, nice.

Danny looked at Steve, but couldn't read what he was thinking. So, Danny tried a Hail-Mary pass, in an attempt to keep his sanity. Which is what he should have started with, when this conversation began, a million years ago.

"What did I say to you, in the hospital, when you asked if I was okay?"

Steve flexed his eidetic memory muscles. "You said _I got everything I need right here. I'm good_."

"And who was I looking at when I said that?"

"Grace," Steve said, flatly.

"And?" Danny poked Steve, again, twice this time, in his ticklish spot.

"And me." Steve, once more, began to look really, really guilty.

"And where am I right now?"

Steve smiled. "In my bed," a hint of a tone creeping into his words.

"Excuse me? Our bed. Ours. As in yours and mine. Me. Holding you. Us. Right here. Right now. The two of us. Together."

"Danno, can you actually form a full sentence with a subject AND a predicate? Maybe a participle thrown in as an afterthought?" Steve grinned up at Danny, a mischievous light dancing in his eyes, and Danny was doing his best to hold back his building joy. His old Steve was quickly returning.

Danny leaned down and whispered into Steve's ear. "See, I would give you one upside the head, another oldie but goodie from the Italian side. But as rock solid as that thick skull of yours is, I'd risk hurting my hand." He kissed Steve on the cheek. "Face it, babe. I'm here and I'm not going anywhere. You need to accept it. And believe it."

"And lucky me," Danny continued, "you're mine. All 6-foot-1, 185 pounds of you. The covers hog. The snoring buzzsaw. The sleeping farter..."

"I do _not_ fart in my sleep," Steve giggled, looking aghast at the accusation.

Danny was giggling, too. "Really, McGarrett? Is that your best poker face? Like I don't bunk in here, too? Unless you have Catherine stowed under your side of the bed, it's all you, babe. I mean, seriously? We don't even have a dog you can blame it on." Danny hugged Steve and slid down the headboard, so they were laying side-by-side, face-to-face. "Oh, let me tell ya. The things I hear in the middle of the night..."

"Fuck you, Danno." Steve half-whispered, looking at Danny like he was the best present marked 'For Steve' under the McGarrett's tree on Christmas morning. He felt a tear or two building up, from relief and pure happiness. All of the residual poison from the dream was gone.

Danny laughed, a little too loudly, because he won. And as a gracious winner, Danny shared his good fortune by kissing Steve, hard and with plenty of tongue, for a very, very long time.

"I love you, too, you idiot."


End file.
